


Back of The Mirror

by WandererRiha



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Dirge of Cerberus: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M, Gen, Other, Role Swap, sprawling AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2019-10-09 16:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17410574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WandererRiha/pseuds/WandererRiha
Summary: A challenge from Finesharpedge, originally done for Rare Pair week 2018:Sephiroth and Elfe swap roles.By association, so does everyone else.





	1. Vincent

Before we can swap the children, we must swap the parents.

First, Grimoire Valentine does not die. It’s a very near thing, but he doesn’t die. It’s enough to make Lucrecia rethink this whole Chaos business. She still studies, but decides that maybe prodding the Eldritch with sticks is a bad idea. She seals Chaos away, and sticks to theory, at least for now. Besides, she’s pregnant. She has bigger things to worry about.

Vincent steps up and does the honorable thing. Veld, who does not have a young family to worry about, is sent to the mountains. He does not return. Vincent does his best to investigate, but he is distracted by his new duties as Chief. Tally was going to pick either Veld or himself to succeed her, and with Veld gone, Vincent is the only choice. He can’t help thinking that he’s a fraud, that this role should have gone to his partner and best friend, but he resolves to try to do the best he can since Veld isn’t here to do it himself. It’s a promise he makes to himself, his wife, and his new son. They name him “Seth”, after Lu’s father. Vincent doesn’t like the direction Shinra politics are heading. He moves his young family to Kalm, where it will surely be safer.

He is wrong.

When Seth is three, the bombs fall. Vincent will forever wonder if the fire was meant for him. It doesn’t kill him, but it does leave him broken and scarred. He loses his wife, his sons, his father, and his left arm. Yes, “sons”. Lu was pregnant for the second time. Like Veld, Vincent tries to find them, tries to at least obtain their remains, but he is unsuccessful. The four ghosts haunt him all through his tenure, until he sees one of them reappear on an intelligence feed. His heart nearly stops.

AVALANCHE has become a thorn in Shinra’s side, constantly sabotaging mako reactors and other corporate expansion. He knows that face. It’s his own, framed by Lu’s brown hair. He’s calling himself “Sephiroth”, but that’s Seth. He’d stake his right arm on it. Their sources say AVALANCHE is heading toward Corel, to wreck the unfinished reactor being built there. Under any other circumstances, Vincent might let the kids handle it. He’s too old to do more than call orders from behind a desk. But this is his son. He is going. Let anyone try to stop him.

Shinra has their own ideas.

Their greatest weapon has recently returned home from overseas. Without her and her brothers in arms, the Wutai War might have gone very differently. General Elfe, the Demon of Wutai, will surely make short work of these upstart eco-terrorists.

Twenty-five years ago, Gast and Ifalna had come home with Hojo, a baby, and not much else. General Elfe was supposed to be the first Cetra to walk Gaia in many millennia. However, she never heard the voice of the Planet. She did, however, prove exceptionally good at killing things. She was put into the military instead, and became the first SOLDIER; the only known female to tolerate the treatments.

She isn’t tall or broad like Genesis or Angeal, but she can more than hold her own. There had been a time when others scoffed at her because of her size, because of her gender. Everyone knows better than to laugh now. Her silver-white hair cut boy-short and dressed in a leather jacket that nearly sweeps the ground, only her vibrantly blue eyes provide any color to her look. It is an aesthetic built to intimidate, to serve as a warning. If the hint is not taken, there is always the Wutaian longsword on her back to drive the point home.

Vincent is there to witness the faceoff in the mountains. He wants so desperately to step between them, to call Seth’s name, but he is too far away. Perhaps it’s just as well. He might make things worse. He thinks about taking aim at Elfe’s platinum head. Thinks about at least grazing her to save his son. Fingers the trigger. But then they’ve drawn steel and are moving too fast for him to track. He could not have taken a shot if he wanted to.

They prove oddly well-matched. Seth has his height, his long reach, and Elfe is freakishly fast and strong. Against all odds, Seth sends her sprawling in the dust. There is a palpable moment of dead silence as she picks herself up, sweeping the dust from her jacket. Seth just stares, as if he cannot comprehend what he’s just done. Elfe raises her sword to him and smiles; a salute to a worthy opponent. Rather than slaughter him and his men where they stand, Elfe beckons to hers and retreats. Vincent feels himself wilt with relief.

He surprises him later. Seth catches a glimpse of him on the catwalk above the reactor.

“Dad?” he asks, features an agonizing mix of surprise and disbelief.

Vincent is sure the same look is etched on his own face. Abruptly, Seth crumbles, and his second hurries to catch him. The mission goes to hell shortly after that, but his kids get away safe, and Seth is with him again, and that’s really all he cares about. At this point, Shinra can go fuck itself. Repeatedly. With a large, unlubricated object. He has his son again. Nothing else matters. Tseng, bless him, agrees to provide cover, and spread the story of the Chief’s death. Vincent passes the mantle to Tseng, giving him what blessing he can:

“Good luck, kid. You’re gonna need it.”

Seth is disoriented, confused, and justifiably angry. Between the two of them, they piece together what happened. After the fire, Seth and Lu had been treated at Old Midgar General. There, he received a materia shard to keep his severely burned left hand from deteriorating any further. According to Shinra, Lu died before giving birth. Seth has tried to look into it himself, but his access to Shinra’s records is limited. As far as he knows, she died of her injuries, his little brother perishing with her before he’d ever had a chance to live. As a memoriam, they name him “Nero”, after Vincent’s grandfather. It’s something.

Seth holds the hand with the materia up to Vincent’s prosthetic left hand.

“You know it’s killing me,” he says.

There are four shards total. One is not enough, he needs all four to keep stable. His tactician had some ideas as to where to find them. Vincent resolves to find them all or die trying. They already have one shard, courtesy of the second, Shears. The tactician, Fuhito, points them north: Nibelheim.

To be honest, Vincent smells a set-up. Paranoia has kept him alive this long, and he doesn’t see any reason to stop being suspicious of everyone and everything just because he’s listed as “killed in action”. However, he’s long wanted to examine the old Shinra mansion himself. The lab is in the basement, and he and Seth go down, down, down the stairs to where this thrice-cursed mess started. It’s not the lab they need to examine.

The crypt had been used as an ersatz storage area for things that would not be affected by the mold of dry bones: paperclips, glass beakers and bottles, mops and brooms, and other generic office supplies. There is a fresh seal on one of the coffins, which suggests it’s the one they want. The others are in a state of significant disrepair. This is the only one that’s truly intact. Between the two of them, they chip away at the lead. Seth lifts the lid and Vincent barely manages to repress a shout.

It’s Veld. Oh dear gods, it’s Veld. Vincent sinks to his knees beside the coffin, unable to tear his eyes from the gray, scarred face. The reports were true, then. Killed in action. He starts as a hand comes to rest on his shoulder.

“Dad?” Seth asks. Vincent takes a deep breath and tries to pull himself together. He doesn’t have much success.

“That’s your Uncle Veld,” Vincent tells him, voice strangled to the barest whisper by his held tears. “He was my partner. My best friend. He should have been Chief, not me.”

“Dad...it wasn’t your fault.” Despite calling him ‘dad’, this is the first tenderness Seth has shown toward him.

 _Yes it is,_ Vincent thinks. _It should have been me._

But his son is still breathing, standing here next to him, alive and ill and they need to do something about that. There is a faint glow coming from beneath Veld’s clasped hands. With long fingers nimble as a thief's, Vincent extracts what they’ve come for: the third Zirconiade shard. Seth lowers the coffin lid and they both stand silent for a moment. In his head, Vincent chants a sutra to guide Veld’s soul to the Lifestream. Beside him, Seth does the same. He does not know the details, but it’s closure of a sort. He can stamp Veld’s file as “Case Closed” and file it away to be buried as well. He asks Tseng to alert him if Nibelheim ever comes up again. There are things buried there besides Veld.

Finding the fourth shard causes something of a fiasco. Evidently the tactician had ideas of his own. Seth and the kids are able to overpower him, but it’s a very near thing. Fuhito dies, Seth lives. Mostly. Vincent takes him home, such as it is. Seth is ill enough to allow this. They build something more like a friendship than father-son. Vincent will take it.

Tseng contacts him. Shinra has sent Elfe to Nibelheim, ostensibly to investigate the old reactor. Tseng is reasonably sure this is not the only reason. He smells a set-up, but for what purposes, he doesn’t know. Vincent looks at Seth.

“You up for a road trip?”

Seth nods. He is.


	2. Lucrecia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you're not as dead as everyone thinks you are.

Lucrecia Valentine awakes screaming in a hospital. She is not the only one lying charred, in agony, awaiting treatment. Because of her delicate condition, she has been spirited to the more sophisticated Midgar General rather than receive treatment in Kalm. At some point she gives up screaming. It’s not that she isn’t in pain- she is- but her brain has given up trying to process it. Besides, her scorched throat could not produce another sound even if she wanted to. It’s not until she falls silent that anyone finally pays attention to her.

It’s difficult to see. The heat and smoke have damaged her vision- perhaps permanently- and it’s hard to make sense of the blurry face above her.

“I’m Professor Hojo,” it says. “I’m a doctor, not a doctor, if you follow me.”

Lucrecia blinks. What the hell? She wonders if he’s a professor of medicine or something else entirely. Maybe an intern. She has no idea what’s happened, other than suddenly the house caught fire, so she grabbed Seth and--

Oh gods.

She tries to shout his name, tries to sit up, but cannot do either. All she manages is a strangled grunt and a palsied lurch that raises her head a few inches from the gurney. It is too much. She falls back, gasping.

“Please don’t try to move,” Professor Hojo tells her, an unsettling edge of controlled panic to his voice. “Can you tell me how far along you are? Can you...can you hold up your fingers? Squeeze my hand?”

Her fingers do not want to obey, but she weakly squeezes once, twice, three times. It’s slightly more than that, but she’s not going to try to count weeks like this.

“I see,” he says, still sounding as if he’s doing his best not to let her see how alarmed he is. She almost feels sorry for him. He begins peeling off her charred clothing, dabbing at something that looks like a seared tree branch with a cotton ball that’s soon stained red. It takes her a surreal moment to realize it’s her own arm. It isn’t easy to look down and try to assess the damage. For one, it’s difficult to move, for another, she doesn’t like what she sees.

Her hair is probably gone; her head feels entirely too light and her scalp tingles unpleasantly. Her arms remind her of lava; raw red flesh showing beneath blackened fragments of charred skin and clothing. Her legs are in slightly better shape- or perhaps not. Her nylons have melted fast to her skin. She doesn’t want to think about trying to roll them off. Her belly, mercifully, is largely untouched. She’d been carrying Seth, trying to shield his body with her own.

There isn’t much they can do for her, she realizes. There is no repairing this. There had been experiments with burn victims treated with mako that had yielded positive results, but mako is rare and valuable. Would Shinra spend such an expensive substance to save the life of her child? She doesn’t want to consider the answer.

Her vision has cleared somewhat, and she realizes she is not alone. There are others laid out on gurneys, cots, even on the floor. Some are barely recognizable as human. It must not have been her house alone. She wonders what happened? She blinks, recognizing a series of mako pods standing near the far wall. All of them are occupied. So they are using mako as a treatment. But there is only so much. Professor Hojo’s purple latex glove moves into her field of vision and she has an idea.

Feebly, she grips his wrist.

“What is it?” he asks her, pausing to take her hand. She lets go, and traces a shape in his palm. It takes him a minute to realize what she’s going.

“D-A-R-K...W? No, M, sorry. M-A-K-O…”

He stares at her, long and hard. “How do you even know about that?” he asks.

Of course, she cannot answer. She meets his eyes, staring him down. Slowly, she spells out S-C-I then D-E-P-T

“Science Department,” he concludes. “You work for Shinra? In mako research?”

She nods.

He looks at her for a moment, turns to look at the tanks, and then nods. “Well, it doesn’t exactly grow on trees, but that’s not a bad idea. Wait here.”

It’s not as if she can do anything else.

\--

When she wakes up again, she’s not sure if it’s better or worse. On one hand, her body is decidedly unhappy with her. On the other, there is something to soothe the pain, if not eliminate it. She has to look to see what kind of treatment she’s been given; her nerves will not register anything besides the pain. She is not in a tube, but wrapped in a blanket. The smell and the slippery-wet texture of the fabric tell her it’s been soaked in dark mako.

“This will have to do until we can spare a mako pod,” Professor Hojo tells her. “Someone who knows a bit more about babies than I do took a look at you while you were out. She says your baby is fine, all things considered.”

No, she wants to tell him. My baby is not fine. My baby is gone…

She drifts in a haze of pain and fatigue. The next time she wakes for any substantial amount of time, she’s floating in a mako pod. This feels better. The pain is manageable now. She still does not have the strength to think, so she passes out again.

Weeks pass this way, then months. The Professor and the others keep a close watch on her. On the other side of the glass, the intensive care ward has only a handful of people still in residence. Lucrecia is one of them. They monitor her for her health, for that of her baby, for scientific purposes. Knowing she is a dark mako specialist, they share their data with her. Lucrecia makes some suggestions for her own treatment, and the technicians obey.

By the time her baby is due, she is better, but still cannot leave the mako pod. Her second son is born in mako, christened by the lifeblood of the planet. His first breath is not of oxygen, but mako. He will never breathe anything else. She names him Nero, as she and Vincent had agreed, after his great-grandfather. Black. Fitting for one born in Darkness.

Nero grows strong and healthy rapidly. The same cannot be said of his mother. Although the burns have healed, leaving the soothing coolness of the mako is agony. The pain is so great, she can barely stand up. Each breath feels like fire. Nero must be of the same opinion, for he screams and cries if he is not submerged. Indeed, he can’t seem to draw breath at all. Lucrecia sketches designs in the condensation on the glass; designs for protective clothes for both of them.

Gravity is too much for her when she is at last released from the mako pod. She had been floating submerged and weightless for over a year. What muscle she might have had is gone, and the heavy scars do not want to bend or stretch. Professor Hojo sets her in a wheelchair so she can at least sit upright. She is so weak she cannot push it herself. Indeed, she barely has strength to hold her son.

The mako suit, however, is a success. In essence, it allows her to remain submerged in mako, but without needing to stay in the pod. The respirator covers most of her face, allowing her to draw breaths softened by a fine mist of dark mako. Although she is covered head to foot, and had drifted naked in the pod for all to see, she feels exposed. Professor Hojo finds her a smock. It is too long and too wide by half, but that suits Lucrecia fine. Anything more tailored would be uncomfortable and limit what little movement she can manage. But it’s a stop-gap measure and they all know it.

“Are you sure there isn’t anyone you want me to contact?” he asks her for the thousandth time. “Someone I could call? What about your husband?”

It’s all she can do to shake her head, for she cannot speak. No. No, if he is alive, Vincent would not want to see her like this. _She_ does not want Vincent to see her like this. Less still does she want to tell him what happened to Seth. One son dead, the other permanently marked by dark mako. She could never tell him, assuming he survived the fire. Distantly she wonders. It hurts to be apart from him, but she could not bear her anger or his tears. No, there is no one Hojo can call.

\--

It takes ages, years, for Lucrecia to recover- for a very marginal definition of “recover”. She can stand, she can walk. She cares for her son, and assists in the labs. During the day, she wears the mako suit. At night, she sleeps suspended in a mako pod. She is expensive, she knows, but she is also a valuable research specimen, as is her son. Nero grows strong and healthy, but remains dependent on dark mako much like his mother. He learns to walk, to talk, to eat solid food. She watches him toddle around in a mako suit that resembles a bulky black sleeper. Beneath her respirator, her cheeks crack and her lips bleed she’s smiling so wide.

Professor Hojo dotes on both herself and Nero with an affection she had not expected. She is not beautiful or graceful. Her mind is the last thing left to her; her mind and her son. Hojo doesn’t seem to mind her scars, or the fact that she can barely speak. Besides, he seems to know what she needs or wants before she does herself. Only Vincent had ever been that attentive. She misses him, oh how she misses him! But he is dead; or at the very least she is dead to him.

 _This is wrong,_ she tells herself. _Do not encourage him. This can lead nowhere for either of you._

And yet… And yet…

“I only had one girlfriend,” Hojo confesses. “She was smart, like you. One of the lab assistants in the Jenova project. Have you heard of that?”

She knows of it, and so she nods.

“I’ll bore you with that some other time,” he promises. Beneath her mask, Lucrecia smiles.

“Anyway. Just the one. It… She...died. In childbirth. I tried to save her but…” he trails off, shrugs. For many minutes the silence hangs. Lucrecia rests a hand on his arm, drawing him back to the present.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “She gave me a daughter, so that’s something. Elfe’s a beautiful girl; strong and smart like you. I think you’d like her. I think she’d like you.”

Lucrecia shakes her head as much as she can. No, no, she would only frighten a child with her mask and black mako suit. No matter how precocious, she cannot meet Hojo’s daughter.

“Well, if you’re sure.”

She is. Very. Nero, however…

“Well, he’s a fair bit younger, but they might make good playmates.”

Elfe is Seth’s age. Rather, Seth would be the same age as Elfe if he’d survived; six to Nero’s three. The age gap is too great to allow any kind of equal interaction, but Elfe has seen few children in her young life. Nero in his “space suit”, as she calls it, is a curiosity. She seems content enough to chase him, or build towers out of blocks. Elfe’s not one for playing house, but she takes to Nero as a little brother.

“They get on well together, don’t they?” Hojo asks.

Lucrecia nods. They do. It takes her a minute to realize he’s got a hand on her shoulder. She feels the weight, but little else. The skin on her arms and shoulders is too damaged to pick up all but the most obvious sensations. Inquiring, she looks up at him. At once he pulls his hand back and steps away.

“Excuse me,” he apologizes. “I didn’t… I wasn’t…”

She reaches and takes his hand, pulling him back into her space. He seems surprised and not a little bit flustered.

“Oh… Well… If you’re sure?”

She isn’t sure, not at all, but she cannot find it in her heart to push him away. Instead, she pulls him closer, and tries to think of ways that will make it worth it when this eventually blows up in her face.

\--

What follows cannot be termed a conventional courtship. Hojo does not ply her with sweets or flowers or pretty compliments. What he does do is care for her, as he has done, but without the degree of professional distance that had separated them until recently. At first she cannot decide if it is because she and Nero are his pet projects, or because he genuinely feels affection for either of them. He is not exactly a natural with children, but he does try, and she loves him for it. Nero can be a handful despite his dependence on dark mako. His favorite game is hide-and-seek. His ability to quite literally melt into shadow adds an extra degree of difficulty.

Normally, Nero sleeps in her arms, sharing her mako tank. She has one of the larger ones, the older models designed for great, hulking soldiers. Two average-sized people could easily fit in together. Rather than hand Nero, stripped of his suit and mask, down to her, Hojo tucks Nero into his own small pod. Really it’s an exceptionally large aquarium filled with dark mako, but it will a make passable cradle for one night. Already more than half asleep, Nero simply curls up within the dark liquid and drifts off.

She watches, silent, as he locks the door of what had become her room and laboratory combined. She watches as he neatly hangs up his lab coat, sets aside his ID, pocket protector, and wallet. After removing each item of clothing, he either hangs it up or folds it neatly for easy access later. Lastly he sets aside his glasses. He squints through the glass at her, pink flushing his face and shoulders. He’s embarrassed, she realizes, and maybe a little nervous. It takes her a moment to realize she’s crossed her arms over herself. As if she had anything to hide. She’s given birth twice and nursed two children. She’s drifted naked in front of the lab for more than a year. Her body is not unknown to him. Rather, this is the last aspect that has not been explored.

They are both widows, she reminds herself, as he climbs in. Vincent is gone, killed in the fire. Hojo’s wife is cold in her grave. There is no reason they should not take comfort in one another. It boggles her slightly that he should find anything even remotely attractive about her. The fire has ruined her physically. The scarring on her limbs is so heavy she can barely feel his hands. Only her bosom and belly and lower parts are undamaged. This strikes her as perversely funny, forcing a bubbling giggle as he presses close.

There is a part of her that has missed this; the attention, the closeness. A part of her had not expected to survive. Her logical mind had expected to live out her life as a celibate widow. She and Vincent had held no promises beyond the grave, but who would possibly want her? Apparently Hojo did, and gods help her, she wanted him too. Is it so very wrong to want to be loved? To want someone to love in turn?

No, she decides, pressing her lips to his, it is not.

\--

She knew this was a mistake. Knew it was a bad idea. Gods, what had possessed her? The same damn thing that got her Seth, she answers herself angrily. It’s been weeks not months, but she can feel it. She’s pregnant again, and she’s worried this broken body will not support a second life. She has Hojo run the test and feels her heart sink at his thunderstruck look.

“Oh gods, Lu,” he says, face still a picture of perfect shock. “I didn’t… I’m sorry…”

She waves the apology away. They were both stupid. This wasn’t wholly his fault. Gods, you’d think she would learn.

Hojo is still staring at her, but the shock has hardened into determination.

“It’s alright, Lu. I’ll fix this.”

How? She wonders.

She does not see him until late that evening. Until then she plays with Nero, and directs the various technicians in their research. Mostly, she sits in her wheelchair, in her already too-tight mako suit and tries to think. When Hojo finally returns, he has something in his hand.

“I’d like to try something different regarding your treatment,” he tells her. “If you want to. It’s up to you.”

She tilts her head at him, curious.

“This is a summon materia,” he begins. “Well, one-quarter of one. I have a fourth each to two children, a little boy and a little girl who had been in the fire. Both of them survived and are living quite happily with Foster parents. I think what worked for them might work for you.”

She nods. It’s not as if she has anything to lose. Hojo pressed the shard of materia into her hand and curls her fingers around it. It still hurts to stretch the tendons and ligaments like that. Some mobility has returned, but not all of it. Light flashes and she has to squeeze her eyes shut.

 _‘Who seeks the power of Zirconiade?’_ a voice echoes in her head, fathomless as the universe.

 _‘I…’_ Lucrecia mentally stammers.

 _‘Your body is broken,’_ Zirconiade voice observes. _‘Yet you think yourself worthy?’_

 _‘I am unworthy,’_ Lucrecia replies, feeling tears well up. _‘I allowed my son to die. I have broken faith with my husband. I wish that they would let me die. My youngest would better off without me.’_

There is a feeling like comfort, like sympathy, and Lucrecia falls into it as one would waiting arms.

 _‘Child,’_ Zirconiade soothes, _‘much have you endured. Take heart, for your firstborn is not dead. He carries me with him as you do.’_

 _‘What?’_ The shock hits her like a physical blow, leaving her breathless.

_‘You eldest son yet lives, though he has forgotten his name. I can sense your shared blood.’_

_‘Please where is he? Is he alright?’_

_‘He is well, though I could not tell you where he is. I know not Gaia’s contours of this age. Know that he is well and happy. I will protect him in your stead, if you so wish it.’_

_‘I do! Please, please, I do!’_

_‘Very well. In return you will be mine, a living vessel. I will do what I can to restore your body that you may carry out my work.’_

_‘Anything,’_ Lucrecia promises. _‘So long as Seth is alive.’_

 _‘Seth,’_ the voice echoes. _‘Is that his name?’_

_‘Yes. Will you tell it to him?’_

_‘He does not speak to me the way you do, but I will tell him if he asks.’_

_‘Thank you.’_

The light fades. Lucrecia finds herself lying in Hojo’s arms.

“Lu?” he asks. ‘Are you alright?”

The respirator feels oppressive, suddenly. The mist of dark mako to wet and heavy to breathe. Clumsily, she pulls it off.

“Yes,” she wheezes, voice no more than a croaking whisper. “I’m fine.”


	3. Zirconiade

She gives him two children: a boy and a girl, each a little over a year apart. Shinra names them, for the only reason for their existence must be research. Elfe, Genesis, and Angeal are all part of the Jenova project. Nero, Weiss, and Rosso are part of what has been dubbed the Deepground project. Lucrecia’s children are not treated with Jenova, but with mako only. So far, all six children appear to be on par with one another. There are as yet no obvious advantages to using a mix of mako and Jenova, or simply mako.

Elfe is thirteen now, and drilling with Angeal and Genesis. Although they are kind to their little “cousins”, they are no longer interested in playing with children so much younger. Despite his ardent desire to be like the big kids, it is unlikely Nero will ever be placed in the military. His dependence on a mako suit and respirator make him too much of a risk. Weiss and Rosso are as yet too young, but Lucrecia worries for them.

 _‘Fear not,’_ Zirconiade tells her. _‘There is always a way.’_

 _‘Elfe was supposed to hear the voice of the Planet,’_ Lucrecia laments, _‘and she hasn’t. None of them have.’_

 _‘I am not the least bit surprised,’_ Zirconiade scoffs. _‘Can a child weave a tapestry? Build a house? Win a war? No, indeed! These things require years of teaching and training. They must first become apprentices and journeymen before they become masters of a craft.’_

 _‘Are you saying...it is a learned skill?’_ Lucrecia asks, dumbstruck. _‘Hearing the voice of the planet can be taught?’_

_‘How else would one learn to hear Gaia’s cries?’_

_‘But I thought only the ancient Cretra could do that?’_

_‘Child,’_ Zirconiade says with obvious patience, _‘what is the ancient word for ‘human’?’_

Cetra. Human.Of course.

_‘Can you teach me so that I may teach them?’_

Zirconiade seems pleased. _‘I most certainly shall.’_

\--

Lucrecia learns. She learns how to listen, what to listen for. There are many voices beyond those of the physical plane: the freshly dead souls that make up dark mako, those waiting to be born out of light mako, besides Gaia itself. There are also the various Summons and Weapons sleeping their eternal slumber in their vaults of earth. She tries not to poke at them too much, despite her curiosity. She remembers full well what happened the last time she did that. It had nearly cost her mentor his life. What would old Grimoire think of her now? Perhaps she will learn to pick his voice out from the countless others and ask him herself.

Something she learns very quickly is that the Planet is in pain. Like a child alone and hungry it cries almost without ceasing. There are various points of extreme pain that dot its body; nails driven into soft flesh. Beneath these flows the untreated poison of a much older wound; an infection left to fester and spread unchecked.

 _‘Tell me,’_ she coaxes as if trying to console Nero. _‘What’s happened? Where does it hurt?’_

The planet does not speak in words, but in sound and image and feeling. She cannot follow it most of the time, but this is dreadfully specific. Drills and pipes and a sense of bleeding to death. Oh dear. Oh dear, she knows too well what the problem is.

This will not be what Shinra wants to hear, not at all. Mako power had brought Gaia out of the dark ages and into the modern era. Electricity, computers, air conditioning, telephones, television, refrigerators and freezers, all without the pollutants of coal or wood smoke. Except mako power is killing Gaia faster than fossil fuel could over hope to do.

Yes it will take years, decades, perhaps centuries for the planet to die, but not that many. It is a very real possibility that her great-grandchildren will inherit a planet virtually barren of life. Her only hope now is to try to divine the location of the Promised Land. Since she was so helpful earlier, she asks Zirconiade first.

 _‘The Promised Land?’_ the Summon echoes. _‘You mean the Land that is Promised to those who have served the planet?’_

 _‘Yes.’_ It has been a long time since Lucrecia has heard the lengthy translation of the six-letter Cetran word.

 _‘My dear,’_ Zirconiade’s voice is hesitant. _‘One should not rush toward death. I thought you content if not happy with you children and your lover?’_

 _‘I am,’_ Lucrecia replies, confused. _‘What has death got to do with…’_ She trails off as it hits her. She cannot speak; not aloud, not in her head.

 _‘It is a land of promised rest, a paradise of the soul,’_ Zirconiade explains. _‘It is not a physical place, certainly not one that can be leached for energy by industry. Your Shinra will never find it, for it is not a place that can be reached by mortal man.’_

Lucrecia feels sick, feels her heart sink. At best, President Shinra will laugh at this explanation and insist they continue the search. At worst, Hojo will be fired. They will be separated, and her children will be taken from her. What will become of them then, she dare not imagine.

 _‘What can I do?’_ Lucrecia thinks, feeling her eyes fill with tears. _‘How can I protect my family?’_

_‘Child, it is not for you to change the workings of the world. I cannot protect you against your Shinra. Yet there may be something I can yet do.’_

_‘What?’_

_‘I have taught you. Now teach your sons. Teach your daughter. Teach the other children, for though the ancient plague crowds out the planet’s voice, they may yet learn to hear it. Let it be seen that your experiment was a success. There is safety in numbers, and Shinra will surely hesitate to take infant sages from their mother.’_

Lucrecia has her doubts about the ‘surely’ part. Shinra would do whatever brought it more money and power. Then again, if she and Hojo can prove that they have revived the Cetra as a race…

 _‘We will attribute it to you,’_ Lucrecia decides. _‘It must be something special, not just mako alone.’_

_‘But that is untrue.’_

_‘I know, but it must appear to be something exclusive or it will diminish the discovery. It must be something difficult and complicated that we have figured out on our own. If it’s something anyone can do, we have nothing to protect us.’_

_‘You will need summons for your other children,’_ Zirconiade muses. _‘In the days of my youth, few acolytes became priests before they had come of age. I cannot ask a child to fill the role of an adult.’_

_‘How old did an acolyte have to be?’_

_‘Eighteen? Twenty? In times of dire need, sometimes younger. I do not think any were less than sixteen.’_

_‘Nero is only ten. Perhaps it’s something we can attribute to puberty as well.’_

_‘Then we have time yet to find him a guardian.’_

_‘Where shall we look?’_

_‘Patience. I will instruct you.’_

\--

One, it turns out, is under their very noses. Indeed, under the floor on which they stand. Apparently at the very bottom of Reactor Zero sleeps the Summon Omega.

 _‘All Omega’s priests were born in darkness,’_ Zirconiade explains. _‘Your second son is an ideal fit.’_

 _‘And what of the others?’_ Lucrecia wonders. _‘What of Weiss and Rosso? Who will protect them.’_

_‘Peace, my dear, peace. They shall have their own guardians in good time.’_

But they may not have that long. Concerned, she finally shares what’s been going on with Hojo: hearing Zirconiade’s voice, learning to listen and speak to the planet, and her plans to find each of the children a summon. To his credit, he does not dismiss her out of hand.

“I had wondered,” he admits. “You seem distant sometimes, as if you’re listening to someone else. I guess you were.”

“Probably,” Lucrecia agrees, feeling something like heat creep up her neck.

“That’s quite interesting, really. You know I’ve been trying to read up on Summons and I found some old notes on file that mention them in some detail. Are you familiar with the work of Dr. Grimoire Valentine?”

She cannot believe it. He has her old mentor’s notes spread across his desk. Overjoyed, she seizes his face and kisses him.

“I had thought these were lost. Burned. Destroyed.”

“No, just buried in the archives under a lot of other miscellaneous rubbish. We can add these to our research and see where it takes us. And of course, I want to hear what Zirconiade has to say as well.”


	4. Veld

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Backstory of a sort.

Nibelheim is much as they left it. No one pays them much attention. Perhaps they’re used to random weirdos just wandering through. Nibelheim had become something of a hub for troop transit for SOLDIERs heading toward Wutai. Now, however, it seems empty and eerily silent.

The mansion is much the same; full of only dust and cobwebs. Vincent is interested in the library they found earlier. Bypassing the the crypt, he and Seth- no, Sephiroth- make their way down, only to find a light already on in the far room. Vincent draws his gun, Sephiroth puts a hand on his sword.

“ _Veld?_ ” Vincent gapes and lowers his weapon.

A man in a long black trench coat is standing there, nonplussed, a book in his hands.

“Valentine,” he says mildly. “The hell happened to you?”

“I could ask you the same thing. What the hell? I thought you were dead! You were in a godsdamned coffin!”

“I know,” Veld replies dryly. “Looks like I’ve missed a few things.”

“The last twenty years,” Vincent agrees, offering a hand. Veld takes it, but pulls him into a hug rather than simply shake. Sephiroth watches, bemused.

“This little Seth?”

“Sephiroth.”

“Bless you.”

Sephiroth rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s Seth,” Vincent tells him. “Sephiroth these days.”

“You look just like your mama,” Veld says. “How is she?”

“Dead,” Sephiroth tells him flatly. Veld winces.

“Damn. Sorry.”

Vincent waves the apology away. “You had no way to know. What…? How…? I don’t even know where to start!”

“We opened your coffin a few months ago,” Sephiroth says. “You had a shard of Zirconiade materia that we needed. Thanks for that, by the way. I guess when we opened the lid, it must have broken your stasis.”

“Could be,” Veld agrees. “In which case, I owe you.”

“Gods no, I owe _you_ ,” Vincent insists.

“Well, you can start with a stiff drink. This place got a bar?”

“We’ll find one,” Vincent promises.

\--

Nibelheim has a pub. The three of them get a table in a corner and they take turns trading stories. The long and short of it is this: Vincent sent Veld on assignment twenty years ago to act as security for the Jenova project. Veld might have fallen in love with one of the techs. She wound up pregnant and the child was donated to the project. Veld, understandably, didn’t think this was a good idea, but when he challenged the team lead about it, he was shot. That’s how he ended up in a coffin.

Both Vincent and Sephiroth feel there is probably more to the story, but don’t push him. He’s only been awake for a short time. Best not to pry.

“So Elfe’s yours, then,” Vincent says, a note of awe in his voice.

Veld shrugs. “Probably. I saw the pictures in the notebooks downstairs. Looks like her ma, I think.”

“Always thought she reminded me a little of you.”

Veld smiles. It’s the first time he’s done so.

“You know what happened to her mother?” Veld asks.

Vincent shifts, sighs, finishes his tumbler of whiskey. “She died in childbirth. She gave you a daughter, but didn’t make it herself. I’m sorry.”

Veld says nothing, only nods silently. Sephiroth thinks this must be what a dying star feels like; a sudden vacuum of icy darkness. Veld’s expression has not shifted in the slightest, but anyone with half a brain can see he’s devastated.

“Elfe’s had a good life,” Vincent says, trying to put a better light on things. “She’s Shinra’s darling. SOLDIER General, decorated veteran, fan club… Her men would follow her to the ends of Gaia and beyond.”

“Any boyfriends I need to put the fear of Alexander into?”

“Nah, doubt she’s got time for that. ‘Sides, she could do that fine herself.”

Sephiroth has to mentally take a step back to keep the heat from rising in his cheeks. Veld raises an eyebrow but again, says nothing.

“Shinra’s sent Elfe out here,” Vincent continues. “Dunno why. Figured it might be a good idea to make sure she’s got someone watching her back. She may not _need_ backup, but that doesn’t mean she couldn’t _use_ some.”

Veld nods thoughtfully.

“Gods know what Shinra’s told her, or what she’d make of those journals. Can’t very well just walk up to her and tell her I’m her long lost father. I’d be nice to see her, though. To know she’s okay.”

“We could probably arrange that. In the meantime, want in on the case?”

Veld grins, his smile wide and wolfish. “Try and stop me.”

\--

Sephiroth doesn’t touch the journals, they aren’t his to view. This doesn’t stop Vincent and Veld from having a book-a-thon. Vincent holds a whispered conversation with Tseng via PHS; probably about relocating all the books to a more secure location. Everything keeps referencing something called “Jenova”. Evidently the scientists thought it was a fossilized Cetra. Inside Sephiroth’s head, Zirconiade laughs at the very idea. If Jenova isn’t the body of a dead Cetra...what is it?

“Yeah, okay, that is _not_ a Cetra,” Sephiroth says.

The thing in the tank is...well it looks like it was mostly human at one time. The face is obscured by a helmet of some sort, pale, straight hair trails past its shoulders. It’s naked, exposing a female body discolored and distorted by mako and gods know what else. There’s a thick tube clamped to her belly. Her legs and arms trail away into twisted, misshapen hunks of flesh that more closely resemble tentacles of a sea creature than human limbs.

Vincent’s hand has moved to cover his mouth, and his face has gone gray. Veld looks as if he’s been shot; shock and pain and disbelief fighting for dominance. He wanders closer to the tank, eyes fixed on the helmeted face.

“Felicia,” he breathes, resting a hand on the glass. “Oh gods, what did they do to you?”

Wait. That’s Felicia? That’s Elfe’s mother? Sephiroth takes a second look at the abomination and feels a little ill himself.

“That’s General Elfe’s mom?”

“When I knew her, she was a human woman,” Veld says quietly. His voice is steady, but there are tears trailing down his face. “A lovely woman named Felicia. She was an assistant in the Jenova project. I couldn’t save her, and this is what happened.”

“But I thought she died?”

“They must have preserved her body for study,” Vincent says. “Why they left her here, I don’t know.”

The revelation hits him hard and heavy, knocking the wind out of Sephiroth. It takes him a moment to find breath and brain cells enough to speak.

“This is what Shinra sent her to find. They sent Elfe to find her mother. They want her to know the truth.”

“But why now?” Veld asks. “Why wait all this time? Felicia’s still dead. It doesn’t change anything.”

Sephiroth looks at the ruined body in the mako tank, at Veld crying unaware, at his own father he’d long thought dead.

“It changes everything. She should know, but it should come from you, not the notebooks. She should know she’s got someone alive who loves her. That she’s more than just an experiment.”

No one argues with him.


	5. Elfe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys make a calculated decision.  
> Man are they bad at math.

Shinra’s sent her to hunt down monsters. If by ‘monsters’ they mean her brothers, then that is exactly what Elfe will do. Both Angeal and Genesis have disappeared. ‘Disappeared’ in this case meaning gone underground to try to find a way to recover. She alone remains uninjured, healthy, still standing with a face like stone despite what’s happened to her family.

Auntie Lu and Uncle Hojo will take care of them. They’ll be safe in Deepground. Elfe can’t help smiling to herself. This is a wild chocobo chase, a waste of time and money, but if it will keep Shinra from finding out about where her brothers are truly hiding, well, so much the better.

“What?” her second asks.

“Nothing.”

He looks at her funny, shrugs, and turns away. One of the troopers lurches forward with the truck and claps both hands over his mouth. Poor kid. With any luck they’ll be there soon.

The village is unremarkable. Nothing suspicious, at least at first glance. If anything it’s too quiet, even for a backwater mountain hamlet. Surely they’ve got a village drunk or a town gossip. At the very least she expects to see some grubby kids with skinned knees and unruly hair running around, but there are none. It’s weird. Nibelheim could just be on its best behavior for the visiting brass, but she doesn’t think so.

There are no unusual monsters on the trek up to the reactor, just indigenous species that don’t seem to be affected by mako in any way. Sometimes the animals grow to an enormous size, or mutate in some way, but that hasn’t happened. The natural mako fountain in the caves deepens Elfe’s suspicions. How could a mako fountain exist this close to a reactor? Is the reactor even operational? Come to think of it, most of the houses had wood or coal stoves. Every chimney had a plume of gray smoke. Everyone in town is using carbon fuel. Was the reactor shut down due to the monsters? Something doesn’t add up.

The reactor seems fine. Nothing out of place. And then they cross the rickety catwalk toward the reactor well. It isn’t the tiers of antique mako pods that makes her stop short, or even her mother’s name printed in huge letters over the far door. It’s the three ghosts barring the way on the other side.

She’d thought both of them dead. Agent Valentine and Commander Sephiroth had both died in Corel. It was in all the official reports, and yet here they stand. The man in the trenchcoat, she does not recognize, but can only assume has risen from the grave to aid in her haunting.

“Well,” she says, “fancy meeting you here.”

“General,” Sephiroth says, stepping forward from the two older men, “we’ve found something we think you ought to see.”

\--

Elfe hasn’t been sent to hunt them down, though she does entertain the idea of trussing them up for delivery back to Shinra. It might earn her some points toward keeping the board happy. It’s a possible back-up plan if this all goes south. Valentine might be worth listening to, however. If anyone is sure to have dirt on anything, it’s the former Chief of the Turks.

They lead her, of all places, to the abandoned Shinra manor.

“This is your story,” the guy in the trench coat begins, “but it was written by other people. People who didn’t care about you or your mother.”

“I know,” Elfe replies. “I know what I am. I know who I am. I know I failed as a Cetra, but I make a damn good soldier. I don’t need to know anything else.”

“You sure about that?”

It’s a dare, and Elfe has never been one to walk away from a challenge.

“Fine. Tell me something I don’t know.”

\--

Her mother’s name was “Felicia”. Elfe stores this away; a treasured detail to add to a small collection of memories. It doesn’t make her any less dead, any less distant. It doesn’t even bother her all that much. She has no memory of this woman, and finds she’s not that broken up about it. Auntie Lu had been the only maternal figure Elfe had ever known, and that’s enough for her. It’s not as if she’s grown up completely alone. She has people who care about her, siblings, family. They may not share her blood, but they share everything else. Which begs the question: what the hell did Shinra send her up here for?

Elfe thinks after she’s let the former Turks say their piece. If Veld is to be believed, he’s her biological father. If she had a gil for everyone who tried to claim a share of herself, her celebrity, of any part of her for their own selfish gain, she’d have more money than President Shinra. To be fair to Veld, it doesn’t seem like he actually wants any of that, but she doesn’t give out hugs for free either. As far as she’s concerned, her father- like her mother- is dead, and has been dead, and will be dead. This guy with his scarred face and black coat is a stranger, and she has no interest in getting to know him better.

Shinra sent her to find monsters. Find her brothers. What she found was her mother’s body. Elfe looks up as the dots connect and revelation flashes in her mind, bright and sharp as lightning. A body infused with Jenova’s cells. Shinra had intended to kill her brothers, but instead have directed her to their cure. She swallows hard, unsure what to do with the sudden swirl of emotions.

“You okay?” Sephiroth asks her. Elfe stares at him, waiting for him to edge away. He doesn’t move, just looks back. No challenge, but he’s obviously not moving until he gets an answer. ...she really shouldn’t find that attractive.

“Fine.”

So what does she do with these idiots, then? Really, there’s only one thing _to_ do. She almost feels bad about it. Almost.

“Well, this has all been very interesting. If you gentlemen will excuse me?”

She signals to her men. Vincent curses. Sephiroth stands, ready to fight, but his father grabs his arm. 

“I _told_ you!” Sephiroth hisses.

Elfe doesn’t stay to listen to the mounting argument. If one First Class and two troopers can’t deal with two old men and a hippie- even if the old guys are former Turks- then they don’t deserve to be in ranks.

\--

She returns triumphant to Midgar, vigilantes and biological mother crammed into the back of the transport. This isn’t what she was sent to find. It is so much better. Gods, they had all been virtually gift-wrapped. It’s too easy, she should probably be worried, but she can’t help feeling just a little bit self-satisfied. She won’t give them all to Shinra, oh no. At least, not on the books.

Felicia’s body will go to Uncle Hojo and Auntie Lu. They can use her to treat Angeal and Genesis. They can have Veld too, if they want. Veld had mentioned Hojo’s name in little more than a growl, so there was clearly unfinished business there. They could resolve it like gentlemen on their own time. The former Chief and his vigilante offspring will be delivered to President Shinra as the prize bounty they are. She wouldn’t put it past him to have their heads mounted on pikes- or maybe on his wall. Sephiroth will almost certainly face a public execution and...she honestly feels a little bad about that. Can’t be helped. He chose to play for the wrong side and now he has to live with it- or in this case, die.

Or did he? No one knows about Deepground, about her cousins. No one knows about Shinra’s secret soft heart, hidden deep beneath the earth. Her family lives there. AVALANCHE wasn’t trying to kill them, only the corporate evils above ground. She’s pretty sure, anyway. Well, Sephiroth’s not going to get the chance to learn about them. He can’t hurt them if he doesn’t know they exist.

\--

Sephiroth is not speaking to Vincent. Or Veld. He hasn’t said anything, but it is abundantly clear he feels this is their fault. Vincent chalks it up to karma since he missed out on Sephiroth’s teenaged years and all the associated moodiness. Also, it kind of _is_ his fault. So there’s that. The important part is how are they going to get out of this mess? They’re all jammed in the back of the truck, each with a soldier with a loaded rifle pointed at them. The metal coffin containing Felicia’s remains lays in the middle of the floor. Veld can’t seem to take his eyes off it. Sephiroth keeps sneaking glances at Elfe. Vincent isn’t quite sure why.

“I thought you didn’t care about her?” Sephiroth nods at the coffin.

“Shut it,” his trooper snaps. Sephiroth ignores him.

“Why bother to bring it back if she’s not important?”

“Never said that she wasn’t important,” Elfe tells him. “Just that I didn’t care about her.”

“So she’s important to someone. Like who?”

Elfe acts as if she has not heard.

“What’s a SOLDIER General want with someone’s botched science experiment?”

“Strife.”

The trooper lifts his rifle and brings the butt down hard. Sephiroth slams into Vincent before falling to the floor, the sharp corners of the coffin catching him in the ribs. He’s hurting, but he’s still conscious.

“Seth!” Vincent starts out of his seat but sits down again as the taller trooper pushes the barrel of his rifle against the old Turk’s chest.

“Try me.”

Sephiroth shakes it off, or tries to. He’s got a weird little smile on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he slurs. “Did I touch a nerve?”

Elfe kicks him- not hard enough to break anything, but enough to get him doubled-up and coughing. It turns into a wheezing laugh.

“ _Son,_ ” Vincent says, pleading. “Leave it alone.”

Elfe lifts an eyebrow. Veld sighs.

“They sent you to find the other two,” Sephiroth gasps. “Genesis and Angeal.”

“Shut up.”

“You know where they are. You think this thing will help.”

Everyone’s looking at him now. Elfe stands, looming over him.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have Strife shoot you in the face right here, right now.”

“It’ll ricochet and hit someone else, maybe one of your men.”

She plants her boot in his stomach again, just for good measure. He jackknives forward, his head bashing into wide boss of her belt. Both of them go crashing to the floor of the vehicle. The coffin’s edges are even harder and sharper than they look. Sephiroth winds up draped between her legs, his face practically in her cleavage. Fortunately, he’s too busy gasping for breath to notice. Well this is awkward. Elfe is glad those present can keep a secret. What she doesn’t need is word of this getting out.

“Get off,” she grunts, shoving him away.

“Hey, _you_ kicked _me!_ ”

She cracks him across the face to remind him who’s in charge. “Shut the hell up! Another word and I will snap your godsdamned neck myself.”

“You know…” Veld’s voice pierces the tension, calm and quiet. “We’re against Shinra, but we’re not against you.”

“Speak English, pops,” Zack, her First Class, says.

“Shinra’s after your friends,” Veld elaborates. “You want to keep them safe. I get that. Why not let us help?”

Elfe gives them her Deeply Unimpressed look. “Please.”

“What reason do we have to double-cross you? You hold all the cards. Maybe your mother can help your friends. If that’s so…” Veld pauses, the same thing occurring to him that had to Sephiroth. “Who are you handing her over to? Not the Science Department. Not Hojo.”

“Why not Hojo?” the words leave her mouth before she can stop them.

Veld’s smile is grim and humorless. “He let your mother die. Among other things, he shot me and locked me in a coffin.”

Eyes flicking to the coffin, Elfe tries to decide if she should let that get to her or not. Uncle Hojo had said her mother and father were dead. Her mother had died giving birth to her, and even this nut job agreed with that. So no fault there. Why would Uncle Hojo have shot this guy… Oh right. Supposedly he was her biological father.

“You know, I really couldn’t care less about your little interoffice soap opera. Maybe you had it coming.”

Weirdly enough, he tilts his head in acquiescence. “Maybe I did. Maybe we all have.”

Elfe rolls her eyes. Creepy old guys. “Whatever. I don’t want to hear it.”

No one says anything else, which suits Elfe just fine. She can see they’re all thinking. Two Turks and a guy who ran his own army of vigilantes; none of them are dumb. Reckless, maybe, but certainly not stupid. Elfe isn’t dumb either. This is just an intermission in their little chess match. She has no doubt they’ll try to get away. Already they’re trying to think three moves ahead. Elfe can play that game as well. So far, she’s never lost, and she doesn’t intend to start now.


	6. Nero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How the Other Half lives.

Of all her children, only Nero still called her “Mama”. Not an old world “Ma’ma”, but closer to the recorded voice of baby doll. Weiss and Rosso called her “mom”, but Nero never adopted the habit. Lucrecia didn’t care. It endeared him all the more to her. He looked _just_ like his father, but had his own very different temperament. Perhaps under other circumstances, Vincent would have been more like his son: shy, curious, and kind without the ruthless streak that he’d had to embrace to stay alive. Nero was all she had left of her old life and so she cherished him. She loved all her children, but Nero was closest to her heart.

Elfe had been born to be the first living Cetra in thousands of years, but it was Nero who had learned to heed the planet’s call. Perhaps it was virtue of being born in dark mako. He’d been touched by death since his first breath, and had grown up hearing the voices of those long passed whispering to them. Strangely, he was not afraid, called them his friends even as a very little boy. If she strained hard enough, Lucrecia could hear them too.

On his thirteenth birthday, they sent him down into the trench beneath Reactor Zero. Lucrecia, the only other person able to tolerate dark mako, went with him.

“I’ll be _fine_ , Mama,” he insisted.

“Of course you will,” Lucrecia assured him. “I’m just coming along for scientific purposes.”

Old enough to have heard that excuse before, Nero rolled his eyes but made no further protest. Perhaps his adolescent pride would not allow him to admit that he was glad he would not be making the dive alone.

It was a curious right of passage that all her children would make- not swimming toward the heart of Gaia through a mile of dark mako- but claiming a summon as their guardian. Hojo would accompany Rosso to the outpost of Fort Condor, ostensibly bringing her along for educational purposes only while he and the workmen tried to figure out how to erect a reactor without disturbing the condor nests. A similar ruse was employed for bringing Weiss to Junon, where he met his own guardian deep underwater. Her own children were safe, but Felicia’s children…

\--

“Uncle Hojo, Auntie Lu,” Elfe said, hugging both mentors in turn. “I found something in Nibelheim that I think will help.”

In the back of Lucrecia’s head, Zirconiade hissed at the plain metal coffin. Hojo looked equally alarmed.

“Elfe, where did you find this?” he asked.

“In the Nibelheim reactor. Me, Genesis, and Angeal were all born from Jenova’s cells. You can make a cure from her, can’t you?”

“Sweetheart,” Hojo began, “it’s _because_ of Jenova that your brothers are dying. More poison won’t help them.”

“But I’m fine!” she insisted. “How can you be so sure?”

“I’ll...look into it,” Hojo promised. “Really what each of you need is a guardian summon.”

Elfe scoffed. “I don’t need some stupid stone. There’s nothing wrong with me. The other kids are different. They’re not SOLDIERs, they’re...students? Clerics? Something. They’re supposed to be able to hear the planet and find the Promised Land. I don’t need a WEAPON to protect me, I just need to be able to swing a sword.”

“No one is questioning your fighting skill,” Hojo told her gently. “I still say it would be better if you had a summon for yourself. You’d be virtually invincible.”

“I’m virtually invincible _now._ ”

“ _Elfe._ ”

She sighed. “Yes, Sir.”

“She only wants to help,” Lucrecia said once Elfe had gone. “Her brothers are all she has.”

Hojo looked mildly insulted. “She has us.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

He sighed, defeated. “No, I suppose not. And I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to conduct a few tests to prove that using Jenova’s cells for anything else is a bad idea.”

“Just be careful.”

He smiled for her. “I will.”

\--

Nero appeared at his elbow, as he so often did, only a brief of waft of cold air announcing his arrival.

“Hello, son,” Hojo greeted him without looking up.

“Dad. Is that her?” Nero leaned over his father’s shoulder the better to see what he was doing. At nearly seven foot, he had a considerable advantage in view. Since receiving Omega, he no longer needed the mask to breathe, but still work a mako suit to keep his levels even.

“Jenova? Sort of. This...this is Elfe’s mother, or what’s left of her. She deteriorated badly after her death.”

“So there’s nothing you can use to help Genesis and Angeal.”

Hojo sighed and straightened, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I don’t think any additional Jenova would help them. The thing about Jenova is it’s a parasitic organism. Now sometimes having a parasite is fine, even beneficial. I’m still not sure why, but Genesis and Angeal’s injuries caused the Jenova in their bodies to turn on them rather like an autoimmune disease. Adding more Jenova to their systems would only be tossing fuel on the fire. What they really need is a guardian summon of their own.”

“Won’t that kill them?”

Hojo eyed his eldest son narrowly. “You’ve been into my notes.”

“What? You left them out. Besides, you told me to see if I could find summon materia. You always tell me there’s no such thing as useless information. I thought maybe there was something else I could learn.”

“I gave you all the information you needed,” Hojo replied somewhat testily. “The contents of that file were not meant for your eyes.”

“This another Shinra thing?”

“Perhaps.”

“Yeah, okay. I’m sorry, dad.”

Hojo nodded. “I know I can’t tell you what to do, but I hope you might listen to one with greater life experience and learn from my mistakes.”

“Geeze dad, lighten up.” Nero smiled behind his mask. “Nobody’s gonna die. Either you’ll figure something out or I’ll find some materia. Either way, it all works out. Right?”

Hojo forced a smile into place. For one ordained to death and dying, Nero could be optimistic to a fault.

“That is the idea. I’m hoping that by bestowing a guardian summon on each of the boys it will clear their systems of the Jenova and allow them to heal. It won’t be an instant fix, far from it, but it should give them the time they need to recover. They’ll probably even be able to go back to being SOLDIERs.”

“Yeah ‘cept Wutai’s over and Weiss, Rosso, and I never even got to do anything.”

“You were under-age at the time.”

“I was the same age as Elfe!”

“And still wearing a respirator. Not to mention your severe adverse reaction to sunlight.”

Nero grumbled, crossing his arms. The fact that he had not been sent to fight was still a sore subject.

“You were called to the ministry, son,” Hojo said mildly. “There aren’t many who could do what you do.”

Nero smiled, crooked. “I’m the _only_ one who can do what I do.”

Hojo opened his mouth, thought better, and closed it again. Nero watched him catalog the corpse, silently taking in every detail.

“Any more leads regarding the materia?”

“Some, but they’re kinda far afield. I could get there, but it’s gonna be a hike. I’d be gone for a couple of days. Thought maybe I could take Weiss n’ Rosso with me since they’re both above-ground.”

It wasn’t like Nero to request backup. “What did you have in mind?”

“I think I know where to find Ifrit and Titan. I can get there, but since I’m dark-aligned I don’t know if I could retrieve them myself.”

“Where are they?”

“Ifrit’s in Costa Del Sol, and Titan’s in Gongaga, probably inside the reactor.”

Hojo winced. There was no way Nero could stand the Costan sun even with Omega to protect him, to say nothing of the inside of a mako reactor.

“Alright, you’ve done your research and presented your argument. I’ll ask your mother and see what she says.”

“Awesome! Thanks, dad!”

Nero vanished in a puff of shadow, presumably to make the same argument to his mother. Shaking his head fondly, Hojo resumed his work. Kids.


	7. Tseng

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys find themselves in a tight spot.

Nobody says anything, but the words hang thick and accusing between them: _This is all your fault._

Sephiroth hugs his knees, thinking, trying to zero in on the thing calling his name in a voice too soft to hear. He’s got three of the four Zirconiade shards. The fourth is somewhere here in the Shinra building. Go figure. He, his father, and Veld have been chucked in separate cells in the prison block a couple of levels below the last sub-basement. Vincent knows where they are in relation to the rest of the building, but he hasn’t said anything. Neither has Veld.

“I’m open to suggestions,” Sephiroth says. If there are guards, he doesn’t hear them. The cells and halls are probably being filmed, recorded in some way.

“Elfe’s probably filing her report,” Vincent says, his voice echoing off the bare concrete. “You and I are wanted criminals. They’ll shoot me in the face quietly and have you publicly hung, drawn, and quartered. Hell if I know what they’ll do with Veld. Probably throw him to Deepground.”

“Deep what?” That’s Veld.

“Deepground,” Vincent repeats. “You remember old Midgar General?”

“Yeah.”

Vincent taps the floor with a metal finger. “About half a mile below us. Shinra built HQ right on top of it. Used to be an intensive care unit. Now it’s part of the Science Department.”

“That doesn’t sound reassuring.”

“That’s where the rest of Zirconiade is.”

Both Veld and his father fall silent.

“I can feel it,” Sephiroth goes on. “I need to get down there.”

“Seth…” Vincent begins. “Son, that’s suicide.”

“If you’re right, I’m dead anyway. May as well take as many of these bastards with me as I can.”

“He’s got a point,” Veld adds.

Vincent gives a frustrated sigh. “Isn’t anyone interested in escape?”

“Of course but how the hell are we gonna do that?”

“Son, I ran the Turks for twenty years. How do you think I got away with faking our deaths?”

Footsteps echo in the corridor and they all fall silent.

“Chief.” This voice is unfamiliar.

“Tseng.”

“Good to see you, Sir.”

“You too. Mind getting us out of here?”

“With pleasure, Sir.”

Metal on metal shrieks as Tseng pulls the cell doors open for Vincent and Veld.

“Hey what about me!” Sephiroth leans through the bars as much as he can. There’s a Wutaian guy with his hair pulled into a short ponytail standing with Veld and his father. Tseng; the new Chief of the Turks.

“Turks protect their own,” Tseng says. “Chief Valentine and Agent Dragoon are Turks.”

“And I’m not.”

“No. Sorry.” Tseng turns away, and drops something into Vincent’s hand.

“But you are my son.” Vincent takes the key and unlocks Sephiroth’s cell himself.

“You guys and your semantics.”

Tseng smiles. “We should get you out of here. We have a safe house prepared.”

Sephiroth shakes his head. “I need to get into Deepground.”

“And I owe Hojo a bullet,” Veld growls.

“Fine,” Vincent says, massaging the bridge of his nose. “We’ll make a little side-trip. Tseng, can you buy us some time?”

“Of course. Just don’t abuse it.”

“Right. Let’s go.”

\--

They descend with Tseng to the lower levels. He plays it off as a prisoner transfer. Veld, Vincent, and Sephiroth are appropriately surly. Sephiroth had expected Deepground to be...well...more sinister. As it is, it’s just stark and bare as many utilitarian buildings tend to be. Huge iron and concrete supports and knots of wire soar toward the distant ceiling of the man made cavern. Below the catwalks and raised walkways lies a city trapped in time. Quaint, even cozy. It’s weird.

Tseng herds them toward what looks like the remains of a church. There are people in white coats with shoulder bags and backpacks milling around on the stairs. Not a church but an educational building of some sort, then.

“Professor Hojo oversees mako research,” Tseng tells them. “Felicia’s body was transferred here. Good luck in your search. I hope you find what you need.”

He salutes the older Turks and disappears into the maze of antique buildings. Sephiroth stares after him in bewilderment for a moment, then shakes it off. The call is stronger, strong enough to follow.

“I can hear Zirconiade. Come on.”


	8. Hojo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elfe tries to be helpful.

Elfe had once believed everything she was told. And then she’d turned three. If she knows one thing in her heart of hearts, it’s that people lie. Particularly, those in charge. Uncle Hojo is usually straight with her, but he has the lamentable habit of not sharing the full story. She doesn’t believe him regarding her brothers. Even if more Jenova cells won’t cure Genesis and Angeal in the long run, if it can at least buy them some time, wouldn’t it be worth it?

For this reason, she goes to the lab after he’s left. The corpse has been resealed in the metal coffin, but that doesn’t matter. The samples Uncle Hojo had taken still sat on the counter. Elfe has grown up in the labs; understands the in’s and out’s of scientific procedure. She lifts a vial and three syringes and steals out into the hall. If she’s lucky, no one will miss them until it’s too late.

Angeal and Genesis have been given a room together in the Care wing. Although still able to get around and care for themselves, it takes a tremendous amount of energy for them to perform even the most basic tasks. She knocks lightly on the half-open door and lets herself in.

“Hey guys.”

Genesis, who has fallen asleep sitting in a chair with a book in his lap, starts awake, acting as if he hadn’t been caught with his eyes closed. Angeal shoves himself upright on his bed. It’s the closest either of them can come to standing out of respect for a fellow officer and a lady besides.

“When’d you get back?” Angeal asks.

“Find anything?” Genesis follows.

Elfe grinns. “I did. Roll up your sleeves. This should help.”

She injects herself first, just to make sure. The familiar rush of a mako booster chases through her veins. She gives it a minute to see if there are any adverse effects. Nothing. Shaking off the high, she goes over and perches on the edge of Angeal’s bed.

“Shouldn’t Hojo be doing this?” Angeal asks as he gives her his arm. Elfe pushes the needle in and presses the plunger.

“He’s up to his elbows in a new specimen,” which isn’t untrue. “Asked if I could play nurse for him.”

“You’re a lot better with hypodermics,” Genesis agrees, rubbing his arm once she’s done. “I feel better already. What was that?”

“More Jenova. I found the original specimen on ice in Nibelheim. It should give you a boost until we find a long-term solution.”

“Aunt Lu said she’d sent the kids out looking for materia,” Angeal tells her. “Both she and Hojo want us to switch to summons instead of Jenova.”

Elfe can’t help wrinkling her nose at that. She knows in her head that it’s not a slight against her own enhancements, but it still _feels_ like it. “Well, if it can get you two lumps out of bed, I guess it’d be worth it.”

All three of them look up as the light over the door begins to flash and the ancient intercom crackles to life.

“ _Attention all staff and patients. The hospital is in lock down. Please remain in your rooms until the all clear is given. Thank you._ ”

“The hell?” Genesis asks. Elfe thinks she already knows the answer.

“Shit,” she hisses, standing.

Angeal grabs her wrist, alarmed. “What? What is it?”

“I brought prisoners back with Jenova. Double or nothin’ the guards let them escape.”

“Who?”

“The leader of Avalanche, the last Turk Chief, and some old guy who thinks he’s my father.”

They both stare at her.

“It’s a long story,” she sighs. “I’ll fill you in later.”

She moves to exit, and the boys follow.

“Whoa! Where do you two think you’re going?”

“With you,” Genesis tells her in a tone that dares her to argue. “I told you, I feel worlds better.”

Angeal offers her a smirk. “You really think we’d let you have all the fun?”

Elfe shakes her head at them, but can’t help smiling. “Oh alright.” There’s only so much trouble they can get into within the confines of Deepground. “But if either of you get your ass kicked, that’s on you.”

\--

It isn’t easy to keep a low profile. Sephiroth lets Veld and Vincent worry about themselves, only doing what he needs to in order to keep himself out of sight. The call of Zirconiade is loud, so loud he can barely hear anything else. It leads him to a building older and less grand than the buried university. This one looks like a pre-mako industrial factory; all red brick and wavy glass. Inside, everything is much more modern, seemingly every surface polished steel.

He follows the call to one of the work rooms off the hall. Zirconiade is close, but he doesn’t see the source. There’s just a Wutaian man around Vincent’s age with a long, graying ponytail and thick spectacles.

“Excuse me,” he says, adjusting the spectacles. “This is a restricted area, I’m going to have to ask you to… Oh shit.” At once he puts both hands in the air in surrender. Sephiroth whips around to see his father and Veld in the doorway, guns drawn and trained on the scientist.

“Uh…” Sephiroth says, raising his hands as well.

“Out of the way, son,” Veld gestures with his head. “This asshole’s got a lot to answer for.”

Sephiroth edges away so that he’s no longer standing between the scientist and the guns. “Do I even want to know?”

“Bastard killed Felicia,” Veld growls. Vincent thumbs the safety back on his own weapon and slides it out of view, evidently deciding to let Veld handle this.

“While I accept responsibility, the truth is a bit more nuanced,” the scientist says. Sephiroth realizes this must be Professor Hojo. “I did not want her dead any more than you did. Toxemia can only be prevented, not treated after the fact.”

“Fine. This bastard _let_ Felicia die.”

Hojo sighs. “Gentleman, this is neither the time nor the place. If I could ask you both to step into the hall I’m sure we can come to some sort of compromise.”

Veld is unmoved. “If by ‘compromise’ you mean me putting a bullet in your heart instead of your godsdamned face, sure.”

“Killing me would only complicate things in the long run,” Hojo stalls. “I’m working on a treatment for some SOLDIERs who are extremely unwell. I’m the only one who understands the illness and the associated procedures.”

“And you’re using Felicia’s body to do it?” Veld is getting angrier by the second. The grip on his weapon is so hard, Sephiroth can hear the leather of his glove creak.

“Actually, I have no intention of using her remains for any such purpose.”

That brings Veld up short. His expression relaxes into surprise, but his gun arm does not waiver.

“Explain.”

“It is Jenova that is making the SOLDIERs ill,” Hojo begins. “All I’m doing here is gathering concrete evidence as to whether or not Jenova will not aid in their treatment. So far, all evidence points to additional Jenova being useless. It might, in fact, exacerbate their condition.”

Sephiroth glances between the Turks and the scientist. He can only be talking about Angeal and Genesis; the two SOLDIERs who had disappeared some months ago. Are they here? And if so, why had Elfe been sent to look for…

_Oh._

“So Jenova’s a no go. What will you do with her body?”

“If I have my way? Lay her to rest. Probably via the incinerator due to the bio-hazard she poses.”

Veld’s resolve has cracked. It’s obvious. Slowly, he lowers his gun.

“We need to find Zirconiade and get out of here,” Sephiroth warns them.

“Zirconiade?” A new voice cuts into the tension of the room. “What about Zirconiade?”

There’s a woman standing in the doorway. There’s not much to her. Sephiroth guesses her head wouldn’t even be level with his shoulder. Beneath her white lab coat is a long gray dress that trails the floor. She’s got marigold scarf wrapped round her head Mideel style, so that only her face is showing. There’s something not quite right about that face. It takes him a minute to realize she’s got no eyebrows or eyelashes, and that isn’t poorly applied makeup, that’s the natural texture of her skin. Burns; probably from a lab accident.

Vincent whips around to stare at her. Several minutes of tense silence follow.

“ _Lucrecia?_ ”

Her eyes, wide and staring, flick between Vincent and Sephiroth. Abruptly, she crumbles to the floor. Hojo surges forward to catch her, but a shot rings out. It’s Vincent who keeps her from dashing her head against the tile. No one does the same for Hojo. He collapses in a heap, leaking blood all over the floor. Veld holsters his gun, expression one of grim satisfaction.

“Now,” he says, turning to Sephiroth as if he hadn’t just shot a man between the eyes. “Where can we find Zirconiade?”

Sephiroth turns from staring at the corpse in vague horror to his father crying and cuddling the unconscious woman.

“Lu,” he keeps muttering through his tears. “Lucrecia...”

Oh gods… Is that his _mother?_ She’s supposed to be dead!

“There,” he says, pointing unsteadily at the ghost in Vincent’s arms. “Right there. She has it.”

He crouches down, wanting, but not daring to touch her. That shard of materia is the only thing standing between her and death, just as it is for him. “I can’t take it from her. If I do, she’ll die.”

“Then we’ll take her with us,” Vincent decides, standing and lifting her in his arms.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Sephiroth reflects that they really should have seen this coming. Elfe, Genesis, and Angeal stand between them and the door, weapons drawn.


	9. Jenova

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thrilling conclusion.

“Uncle Hojo!” Genesis breaks ranks, elbowing past the intruders to the Professor lying inert on the floor. Already pyreflies are spiraling above his body. It vanishes into sparkling dust just as Genesis’ reaches to touch him. He rises with murder in his eyes, irises glowing gold.

“Who is responsible for this?”

“You’re better off without him, son,” Veld says by way of a confession.

Sephiroth tries to take stock. Himself, his father, and Veld against three of Shinra’s legendary SOLDIERs. These are _not_ good odds. The tactician in him is screaming to cut and run, but there’s nowhere to go. There’s no way they’ll ever get out of this alive. Unless…

He looks at his mother, still unconscious in Vincent’s arms. He had assumed that because he has more of the materia, that he would absorb the shard she carries. But what if it could work in reverse?

 _Sorry, mom,_ he thinks, and grabs her hand.

There’s light- brighter, more brilliant, more radiant than anything he’s ever known. He sinks to his knees and tries to shield his face from it. It takes him a minute to realize the light has form; blue eyes that look down upon him in judgement.

 _Please,_ he thinks. _Save my mom._

The light vanishes, plunging him into temporary darkness. Spots dance before his eyes as he tries to shake it off, but it’s hard. His left arm feels like one big open wound. Squinting at it proves this is more or less the case. What had formerly been heavy burn scars now run red and raw. The pain catches up to him then and nearly knocks him flat on his back. It doesn’t matter. Vincent’s set Lucrecia down and she stands transfigured before them.

The yellow scarf has fallen down around her shoulders. Long, chestnut hair flows down her back over a pair of crystalline wings. Although her head barely reaches Vincent’s shoulder, she seems to somehow take up the entire room with the sheer magnificence of her presence. There’s something radiant, something _powerful_ about her that makes everyone draw back.

Everyone except for Veld. He’s doubled over, clutching at his face and clearly trying not to scream. Vincent reaches for him, but Veld throws his head back and lets out a roar that no human could ever hope to produce. His body twists, contorts and it’s not Veld but a demon- black as sin and with wings of blood red- standing in his place. Unlike Lucrecia, he’s so tall that his horns scrape the ceiling. Both the demon and Lucrecia turn their attention to the SOLDIERs.

“ _Crisis’ Daughter,_ ” Lucrecia begins in a voice too divine to be her own. “ _Put down your sword._ ”

“Like hell!” Elfe growls, eyes burning blue with icy fury and lunges. Lucrecia blocks it with one tiny bare hand. No. Not Lucrecia. Zirconiade.

Vincent makes his way over to Sephiroth, tries to lift him to his feet. Sephiroth gasps, almost blacks out at having to move his ruined arm. More scars are opening along his torso beneath his uniform, down one leg, up the side of his face.

“Dad,” he gasps, clinging blindly with his good arm.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Vincent assures him, but Sephiroth can hear the nerves in his voice. He jerks Sephiroth out of the way of another swing from Elfe. The demon’s got Genesis and Angeal busy.

“We should go,” Sephiroth pants.

“But Veld!”

“ _Flee, my love._ ” They both look up to see Zirconiade holding Elfe off, but she’s looking over her shoulder at the two of them. “ _Protect our sons. Go._

“Wait, _sons?_ ” Vincent echoes.

“ _Go!_ ”

Sephiroth pushes him to get him running, and Vincent eventually moves for the door.

On the other side, alarms are blaring and staff running through the halls. At least that will make it easier to get lost in the crowd. Someone slams into Sephiroth and he drops to his knees, the pain too sharp, too deep to even scream.

“Shit! What happened?”

He looks up to see three more SOLDIERs standing over them; two men and a woman. One man has the same sliver-white hair as Elfe. The woman, however, has ringlets of ruby red. Sephiroth can’t help but blink. The other man looks like a recolor of Vincent. Beside him, Vincent freezes.

“...Nero?”

The recolor blinks, confused. “Yeah, that’s me. You guys okay? Did something explode?”

“Mom,” Sephiroth croaks. “Elfe...”

It’s enough. The three SOLDIERs exchange glances and dart past them. Sephiroth stretches his neck to watch them.

“The hell?” the woman asks.

The lab is a wreck, sword slashes in the walls, cabinets and tables overturned, equipment strewn everywhere. Only Felicia- Jenova- remains untouched in her metal coffin.

“Mom!” That’s Nero, poised to leap into action, but Zirconiade stops him.

“ _Help them,_ ” she says, “ _They are possessed and will not stop without aid._ ”

Nero shakes himself and falls back. “Right.”

He gives some sort of instructions to the other two, who rush in to engage Genesis and Angeal. 

“Son, we need to go,” Vincent urges, but half of Sephiroth’s body is now running with blood and lymph, soaking into his clothes. He couldn’t move even if he wanted to. Since he can’t, Vincent sits on the floor with him, one careful arm around his shoulders. He watches, half out of his own body, as the fight rages.

Nero’s disappeared. Sephiroth tries to spot him amid the chaos. He appears briefly, seemingly materializing out of nowhere, to punch Angeal in the back. No- his fist goes _through_ his body. Angeal gives a shout and collapses to his knees. He curls up on the floor, screaming, as though electrocuted. Nero repeats the same trick with Genesis who likewise cries out and falls writhing to the floor as if he’s being eaten from the inside. Both of them retch, adding to the mess, before collapsing unconscious.

Elfe and Zirconiade are still hard at it. The demon steps into help, and the three new SOLDIERs fan out behind him.

“Elfe, stand down,” Nero warns.

Elfe laughs, not even looking at them as she presses her attack. “Oh please. You don’t think I could take all three of you? You know I can. I have.”

“Elfe, back _off._ ”

“Or what?”

It’s evident that Zirconiade- or rather, Lucrecia’s body- is getting tired. Even with a guardian summon, she can’t keep up with the strength Jenova has given Elfe. One final swipe is enough to knock her down. Sephiroth winces as her body falls to the blood-spattered tile, once again small and fragile. He holds his breath, half afraid that Elfe with drive her sword through Lucrecia’s body. She doesn’t. Instead she lops off the hand that bears the summon, sending it skidding across the floor toward the door. It comes to a rest a few inches from Sephiroth’s knees. Lucrecia’s body dissolves almost immediately, leaving only a bare red stone sitting on the linoleum.

“What’s a guardian compared to a god?” Elfe’s tone is dark, derisive. She pries open the coffin and reaches inside. “My birth mother knew the difference. The rest of you will too.”

“She’s lost it,” Vincent mutters, trying again to lift Sephiroth but without success.

Green pulses, sickening, throughout the room. Elfe seems more real, more powerful, and not in a good way. She turns on her siblings and draws her sword.

“ _Get out of my way._ ”

They’re strong, well-trained, and Sephiroth can see that all of them are going to die if he doesn’t do something. The Zirconiade summon lays within easy reach, and yet he can barely move. Gathering all his strength, all his resolve, Sephiroth reaches and grabs it, pressing it into his left hand. He feels like his scream will shatter the light fixtures, send cracks through the mirrors. The holy fire that ignites his soul is worse than the pain of old burns.

“ _No,_ ” Sephiroth hears himself say. Things have evened out, and he’s no longer sitting on the floor, but it’s not him talking. Not really. It’s Zirconiade. “ _Get out of ours._ ”

It takes all of them to subdue her. Sephiroth can’t track every sword stroke, every bullet that flies through the air. All he knows is that there’s a blur of steel and lead and magic and then… It’s gone, leaving reality in its place; flat and bloody and painful.

“Elfe!” Veld is himself again, trench coat slightly worse for wear. “Elfe, sweetheart, no...”

He cradles her head in his arms and holds her close, crying over her the way Vincent had over Lucrecia. It takes Sephiroth a minute to realize that’s his sword sticking out of her. 

_Shit!_

He flails uselessly for a second, unsure what to do. He knows better than to just yank it out. He also knows he hasn’t got a Cure on him. But he knows what he _does_ have. In the back of his mind, Zirconiade is telling him this is foolish, that he should let her die, and a lot of nonsense about Elfe being the spawn of the Crisis blah, blah, blah. She’s Shinra’s greatest weapon, is personally responsible for almost half of the deaths in the Wutai war, a freak of nature cast of alien DNA and corporate greed.

But Veld’s sobbing and Elfe’s not breathing and his own mother is dead and Veld shot the man she’d grown up thinking was her father and...and…and... They’ve suffered enough, he decides, and takes Elfe’s hand.

 _Just save her,_ he thinks. _Please._

Pain shoots through his arm and he gasps as it short circuits his body. He barely feels it as he collapses to his back, head bouncing off the tile with a distant _CRACK_. It doesn’t matter. Veld has his daughter, Vincent has found his youngest son. Avalanche has been running on its own without him for ages now. It doesn’t matter. No one will miss him. He can let go.

\--

Elfe jerks upright to spatter blood onto Veld’s trench coat. She coughs a moment longer before recovering her breath. Her thoughts are another matter. Everything’s a bit vague. She remembers stealing the Jenova sample and going to Genesis and Angeal’s room and then… It’s hazy. She thinks she picked a fight with someone, but that’s hardly unusual for her.

“Baby girl!” The weird guy in the trench coat grabs her in a crushing hug. She gasps at the pressure on barely healed wounds and he lets her go. She edges back from a little and he lets her, but he keeps his eyes on her.

“You okay?”

It’s Genesis and she falls into his arms much more willingly. Angeal is right behind him. The younger kids stand around her in a loose half-circle. Off to the side, the old Chief is cursing at his son.

“C’mon Seth, _come on!_ Wake up!”

Multicolored sparkles of a level three cure spell dance around his body, but without effect. Sephiroth lies silent, eyes vacant and half-lidded, head in his father’s lap. Half his body looks as if it’s been freshly charred, the wounds running and wet.

“Did I do that?” she whispers, horrified.

Genesis shakes her head. “I think… I think he was like that before, but he had part of Zirconiade like Aunt Lu.”

So he’d had the missing shards. Lifting her hand, Elfe stares blankly at the glittering stone embedded there. Looks like Auntie Lu and Uncle Hojo got their way about the summons after all. Nero’s crouched down next to Sephiroth and her stomach sinks. That’s never a good sign.

“Hey,” Nero says gently, making the old Turk look up. “It’s bad, but he’s not gone yet.”

He digs in his pocket for a moment and comes up with a gleaming red stone.

“We got an extra one for Elfe, but I think he’d better have it.”

Mutely, Vincent takes the stone and just stares at it, unsure what to do with it.

“Here.” Nero folds his hands around Vincent’s and presses them to Sephiroth’s chest. One heartbeat. Two.

Sephiroth jerks upright, dragging in a deep, ragged breath before beginning to cough. Everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief. Vincent just holds him close, rocking him a little. After a minute, Elfe looks away, guilty at intruding on a family moment.

Uncle Hojo and Aunt Lu are dead. Part of that is her fault. They just willfully revived a wanted criminal. All around them, alarms are still blaring and people are frantically running for cover. She could turn them in. All of them. Nothing needs to change. Except… Except…

These people helped her; rescued her and her siblings from Jenova. If she’d had her way, they’d all be possessed right now. Would her foster parents be any less dead? Probably not. She could stop it. Call off the alarm. Call off the search. But then what? Sephiroth catches her looking at him and pushes away from Vincent to sit up on his own.

“We told you once before, we’re against Shinra, not you. Do you believe us now?” he asks.

Elfe nods. “I believe you.”

“Shinra may have been good to you, but not to everyone.”

“It wasn’t even that good to me. My family was here. That’s the only reason I stayed.”

“And now?”

Elfe’s expression grows grim. “Shinra doesn’t deserve my loyalty.” She turns to her surviving family. “Who’s with me?”

Each of them takes a step forward. Elfe faces Sephiroth, smiling. “We’re in.”


End file.
